Embrace your own sense of 'harvest'

By DAWN KUCERAColumnist

Published: Monday, October 21, 2013 at 4:30 a.m.

Last Modified: Friday, October 18, 2013 at 5:36 p.m.

Words are powerful things. We can define them and we use them as tools for communication. But sometimes they’re more than that. A word can conjure up a feeling or mood, or bring back strong memories, and perform far beyond the confines of its simple definition.

For a lot of people, “home” is such a word. I’d guess that as you just read that word, perhaps you had instant images of what home means to you — whether it’s memories of where you grew up, or perhaps the home you are creating now for your own children. (And if not when you first read it, I bet you do now.)

Other words might have additional meaning to only a subset of people. For instance, the word “pet” would mean little to someone who’s never had one. But if there’s a dog, a cat or a hamster in your past or present, maybe you experienced a rush of warm feelings when you saw that word.

And then, a word might bring up special feelings, but for no reason you can put a finger on. “Harvest” is a word like that for me. I’ve been thinking about why that is, as I’ve mostly lived in an urban environment, where a harvest never entered my life. Maybe it’s the remnants of my past — I come from a centuries-long line of farmers; some of that might be sloshing around in my DNA.

So let’s move on to a definition. For my purposes, this from Wikipedia works very well:

“Harvest is from the Old English word hærfest, meaning ‘autumn.’ It then came to refer to the season for reaping and gathering grain and other grown products. The full moon nearest the autumnal equinox is called the harvest moon. So in ancient traditions, harvest festivals were traditionally held on or near the Sunday of the harvest moon.”

People who know me have often heard me say how lucky I think my life has been. One of those pieces of luck was getting an overseas assignment in my job and living in England for five years. (English history has been a passion since childhood, so this was literally a lifelong dream come true.)

I lived in a small rural village of about 60 homes that had existed since the days of William the Conqueror. Central to the village was a 13th-century church just a few steps from my house. Harvest festival services are still held in the small country churches all over the country, and it was very meaningful for me to attend the services in my own little church.

The church was decorated with the products of the harvest. Carrots, potatoes and cauliflower might sit on the altar. Stalks of Brussels sprouts and sheaves of wheat were in vases. Jars of homemade marmalade and freshly baked bread lined the windows.

We always sang one particular hymn that I love, one I’ve not often heard in the States. Here’s the first verse:

Come, ye thankful people, come,

Raise the song of harvest home!

All is safely gathered in,

Ere the winter storms begin;

God, our Maker, doth provide

For our wants to be supplied;

Come to God’s own temple, come;

Raise the song of harvest home!

For me, the word “harvest” conjures up the sense of well-being that this verse invokes. The crops were safely in — a matter of survival in ancient times — and the backbreaking work of harvest was over. It was a time of rest and closing in, of coziness, as people drew near the hearth, protected there from the winter storms.

Does all this really happen now? No, not really, for most of us. We don’t gather in crops — we go to the office, or the shop, or the manufacturing site. However, it does still ring true for a certain segment of Henderson County’s population: the folks who grow so much of the food we eat.

In today’s world, they are a special breed of people. They are tied to the land in a way most of us can never know — in many cases, going back generations. They labor in the fields and work long hours, all the while at the mercy of conditions over which they have no control.

In just the past two years, there has been the heartbreak of last year’s late-spring freeze and then there were the monsoon-like rains this summer.

And yet, when the next year comes, they begin the cycle all over again, on the hope and prayer of a good year. To live this life takes a hardiness of soul I suspect many of us lack.

But here’s the thing: Farmer or not, this sense of harvest, and what the word conveys, can be real in all our lives.

“Harvest” can be a state of mind, as well as a verb or an actual event. It is a time of shortening days and lengthening nights, cooler temperatures and falling leaves. It is a time of nesting in your own home. It is a time to reflect on the harvest of your own life, whatever that might be: crops, a job well done, or good test scores.

It is a time to gather in those you love, ere the winter storms begin. It is a time to be a thankful people for all we have, and raise the song of harvest home.

<p>Words are powerful things. We can define them and we use them as tools for communication. But sometimes they're more than that. A word can conjure up a feeling or mood, or bring back strong memories, and perform far beyond the confines of its simple definition.</p><p>For a lot of people, “home” is such a word. I'd guess that as you just read that word, perhaps you had instant images of what home means to you — whether it's memories of where you grew up, or perhaps the home you are creating now for your own children. (And if not when you first read it, I bet you do now.)</p><p>Other words might have additional meaning to only a subset of people. For instance, the word “pet” would mean little to someone who's never had one. But if there's a dog, a cat or a hamster in your past or present, maybe you experienced a rush of warm feelings when you saw that word.</p><p>And then, a word might bring up special feelings, but for no reason you can put a finger on. “Harvest” is a word like that for me. I've been thinking about why that is, as I've mostly lived in an urban environment, where a harvest never entered my life. Maybe it's the remnants of my past — I come from a centuries-long line of farmers; some of that might be sloshing around in my DNA.</p><p>So let's move on to a definition. For my purposes, this from Wikipedia works very well:</p><p>“Harvest is from the Old English word hærfest, meaning 'autumn.' It then came to refer to the season for reaping and gathering grain and other grown products. The full moon nearest the autumnal equinox is called the harvest moon. So in ancient traditions, harvest festivals were traditionally held on or near the Sunday of the harvest moon.”</p><p>People who know me have often heard me say how lucky I think my life has been. One of those pieces of luck was getting an overseas assignment in my job and living in England for five years. (English history has been a passion since childhood, so this was literally a lifelong dream come true.)</p><p>I lived in a small rural village of about 60 homes that had existed since the days of William the Conqueror. Central to the village was a 13th-century church just a few steps from my house. Harvest festival services are still held in the small country churches all over the country, and it was very meaningful for me to attend the services in my own little church.</p><p>The church was decorated with the products of the harvest. Carrots, potatoes and cauliflower might sit on the altar. Stalks of Brussels sprouts and sheaves of wheat were in vases. Jars of homemade marmalade and freshly baked bread lined the windows.</p><p>We always sang one particular hymn that I love, one I've not often heard in the States. Here's the first verse:</p><p>Come, ye thankful people, come,</p><p>Raise the song of harvest home!</p><p>All is safely gathered in,</p><p>Ere the winter storms begin;</p><p>God, our Maker, doth provide</p><p>For our wants to be supplied;</p><p>Come to God's own temple, come;</p><p>Raise the song of harvest home!</p><p>For me, the word “harvest” conjures up the sense of well-being that this verse invokes. The crops were safely in — a matter of survival in ancient times — and the backbreaking work of harvest was over. It was a time of rest and closing in, of coziness, as people drew near the hearth, protected there from the winter storms.</p><p>Does all this really happen now? No, not really, for most of us. We don't gather in crops — we go to the office, or the shop, or the manufacturing site. However, it does still ring true for a certain segment of Henderson County's population: the folks who grow so much of the food we eat.</p><p>In today's world, they are a special breed of people. They are tied to the land in a way most of us can never know — in many cases, going back generations. They labor in the fields and work long hours, all the while at the mercy of conditions over which they have no control.</p><p>In just the past two years, there has been the heartbreak of last year's late-spring freeze and then there were the monsoon-like rains this summer.</p><p>And yet, when the next year comes, they begin the cycle all over again, on the hope and prayer of a good year. To live this life takes a hardiness of soul I suspect many of us lack.</p><p>But here's the thing: Farmer or not, this sense of harvest, and what the word conveys, can be real in all our lives.</p><p>“Harvest” can be a state of mind, as well as a verb or an actual event. It is a time of shortening days and lengthening nights, cooler temperatures and falling leaves. It is a time of nesting in your own home. It is a time to reflect on the harvest of your own life, whatever that might be: crops, a job well done, or good test scores.</p><p>It is a time to gather in those you love, ere the winter storms begin. It is a time to be a thankful people for all we have, and raise the song of harvest home.</p>